


this feels like falling in love

by marlahey (imperfectandchaotic)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Prompt Fill, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, kiss fic to be precise, my two very best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-09-16
Packaged: 2017-12-26 18:26:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperfectandchaotic/pseuds/marlahey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>kiss fic. that's it. that's the fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. neck

**Author's Note:**

> Lydia, Stiles + neck // Isaac, Allison + (attempted) hot and steamy
> 
> you can probably set them both in 3a, allisaac is definitely after the Sheriff is kidnapped. 
> 
> though they don't have anything to do with one another
> 
> I just really liked the way these two ficlets came out and I figured they were both just long enough to warrant their own posting?
> 
> (title from the overused but ever wonderful Ed Sheeran)

They steal moments when they can: slipping out of pack meetings, quiet knocks on dark windows, trying to catch their breath between too-long stretches of fear and panic and uncertainty.  
  
Right now Lydia’s peeling off the shredded remains of one of her favourite sundresses, trying to cull her disappointment and her anger, because a few pieces of fabric is a small price to pay for a victory against Deucalion, and Danny’s safety.  
  
The zipper is stubborn against her (admittedly shaking) fingers and Lydia huffs in frustration.   
  
"Okay?" Stiles asks from his seat on her bed, where he stares studiously at the opposite wall. Lydia tilts her head as she turns back to look at him, something sweet and warm taking flight inside her chest.  
  
"I–" She’s as loathe as ever to admit her failings. “Can you help me?"  
  
Stiles turns to look at her then, and though this is most definitely  _not_ the most indecent she’s ever been in front of him, Lydia  _feels_ naked and exposed and vulnerable, and her frustration only builds until she’s pushing back tears.  
  
Stiles just smiles, soft and calming. “Sure.”  
  
She lifts her hair with both hands so he can’t see them shake – what is  _wrong with her_? This is Stiles, for Pete’s sake, who’s seen her  _naked_ _,_ who yelled at her about death, who saved her from Peter, who still seems to love her despite her clusterfuck of issues–  
  
who kisses her trembling knuckles before cool fingers find her cursed zipper and tug. The material is unresisting and she shivers at the cool air on her skin.   
  
Lydia closes her eyes before she can cry, opens her mouth to thank him, but the words get caught in her throat when Stiles’ lips touch the nape of her neck, the base, then the junction of her shoulder,  
  
and the top-most knob of her spine.  
   
"I’ll buy you another dress," he says into her skin, soft even though they’re the only two people in the house. 

"Stiles…"  
  
More thoughts are lost as his lips trail over her shoulder again, up the column of her neck, underneath her ear where Lydia is most ticklish. She jumps with a gasp, out of breath already somehow and he just laughs in her ear, a small, perfect sound.  
  
"I’ll take you Milan,"  _kiss._ "Or Paris,"  _kiss._  
  
Lydia has to bare her throat to give him access to the underside of her jaw, where his mouth makes her toes curl, thinking distantly of what Isaac had told her once about pack dynamics and submission and what this would mean if Stiles weren’t human.  
  
But he is, imperfect and breakable and  _human,_ and Lydia can’t take this ache in her chest anymore. She whirls around to catch his mouth with hers, swallowing his huff of surprise as Stiles grabs at her waist to keep them standing.  
  
Stiles is actually breathtaking with his mouth – somehow both gentlemanly and wanting in a way that makes Lydia dizzy with desire. He walks her backwards to the bed, easing her down with one hand on the small of her back, so careful Lydia feels like her heart could burst.  
  
She’s usually not like this with boys – Lydia enjoys having control and demanding what she wants, but with Stiles it’s like learning how to kiss all over again, a litany of touch and pressure that is somehow always new with him – and she wouln’t have it any other way.  
  
His mouth is back in his favourite spot, in the underside curve of her jaw beneath her ear. Lydia can’t help the gasp when his teeth graze her skin, nor the upward jolt of her body. Stiles leans back, looking alarmed, and she has to smother a laugh.  
  
"-s fine, Stiles," she says softly, wrapping her arms around his neck to play with his stupidly soft hair. “Nice, even."  
  
He still looks unsure; Lydia smiles and pulls him back down for another kiss, until Stiles finds his way back there again and her toes curl. He’s careful with his teeth this time but his desire is clear – and then it’s Lydia’s too, because she just wants  _one_ private moment with Stiles that isn’t shadowed by fear and death.  
  
"Go ahead," she breathes, an almost frightening longing tight in her chest and hot in her stomach, and it’s almost a dare. “Make me  _yours.”_  
  
Stiles makes a noise that sounds more animal than anything, and then it’s his teeth and pressure and his tongue stroking rough and Lydia feels it in the very tips of her fingers.  
  
The already-forming bruise burns hot like a brand, but she doesn’t mind, not at all, and judging by the too-open expression in Stiles’ eyes ( _wantwantwant **mineminemine**_ ) he doesn’t mind too much, either.


	2. hot and steamy (sort of)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am way better at emotion than I am at mechanics so please forgive me.

"Alli–Allison,  _stop._ "   
  
Stopping her in her tracks isn’t hard with his new strength, but Isaac has to tighten his grip as Allison attempts to squirm away, her quiver snapping against her back.  
  
"Isaac, let  _go_.”  
  
"You can’t just–" He has to grab her by both arms and jerk her foward to face him. “You can’t just go charging in there, okay–"  
  
"She has Stiles’ dad!" Allison shouts, “Don’t you get it? If she kills his father, it will  _ruin_ him, he’ll kill her with his bare hands, or–”  
  
"I know," Isaac interjects, not giving her a chance to say it. “Allison, I _know_. And I know what you’re going to say, you can take care of yourself, I get it, but–”  
  
His wolf is anxious, circling, snapping at him – Isaac’s self-control is still terrible.   
  
"You shouldn’t have to do this all by yourself, okay?" He relinquishes his grip on her arms to grab at her shoulders instead. She’s shaking beneath his hands. “Just–just let me help you."  
  
It means too much, probably, but he sees a scared and silent girl beneath her mask and it’s too familiar, that haunted look; his wolf is whimpering at him  _make it better_ , which is probably why Isaac does the _completely_   _wrong thing_ and just hauls Allison against him when she leaps forward, sealing their mouths together as her bow clatters to the ground.  
  
His wolf is howling things, things like  _pack_ and  _family_ and  _home_ and Isaac is a little afraid of what this could mean, but he’s distracted quickly when Allison takes advantage of their momentum to lurch up in his arms, legs around his waist, leaving Isaac to stumble into the wall of this abandoned building, determined to keep her there forever.  
  
Allison kisses like she fights: all heat and determination, unflappable belief and unerring desire (desire to  _do_  good and  _be_  good, for right things and warm sunlight, isn’t that what they deserve after all this darkness?) and if Isaac were still human his knees would shake with all she is and all she gives him.  
  
Allison tilts her head get get a better angle and Isaac is actutely aware of the exposed curve of her throat. Granted whatever she’s doing with her tongue is very  _distracting_    
  
(a growl escapes his lips and she laughs, smothering the sound and he has to push back against her or be lost in her current), but Isaac’s wolf is practically leaping on his chest, wanting to claim, yowling  _mine, mine, mine_ –  
  
But Scott.  
  
Isaac breaks away, breathing as though he really needs air (though really he could go forever like this, kissing Allison) and she stares down from her vantage point on his hips, face flushed, eyes bright and Isaac silently recognizes this moment as the one in which he falls head over heels  
  
(if it weren’t for the fact she’s trained to kill him, if Scott weren’t something close to his dearest friend, if they were different people living different lives)  
  
in love with Allison Argent.  
  
Something shifts in the wind – and he sets her down as gently as the animal in him will allow, grateful suddenly that he doesn’t need to excuse himself from practically trying to crawl beneath her skin.  
  
"We should go," he says, and just like that, Allison is all business again, picking up her fallen bow and hitching her quiver a little higher against her back.  
  
"Lead the way."  
  
He wants to laugh, suddenly, stupidly, and as Isaac turns back to look at Allison, he finds that she too, is smiling very softly.  
  
"Later, okay?" she says, something vulnerable in the way she looks up through her eyelashes, and Isaac swallows.  
  
"Yeah. Later."  
  
Soon after, as they wait for the signal from Derek, Allison reaches out and takes his hand. Hers is shaking. Isaac just squeezes back, a promise.   
  
For later.


End file.
